Like a Moth to Flame
by Queenie Mab
Summary: The first Christmas after losing all he held dear, Albus looks back on past events.


Christmas.

The day has lost its magic for Albus. If life were fair and just, he'd be spending this Christmas in Alexandria with Elphias Doge, toasting the season with a bottle of wine and a night of stimulating conversation.

Instead he sits at his desk, his candle burnt down to its final inch and wax dripping from the dish onto the wood. Outside his window, snow falls in graceful curtains, muffling the sounds of the evening and making the quiet night even quieter. An occasional draft through his open window sends the solitary flame flickering, chasing shadows along the stretch of wall, its light licking up the sides of his framed awards and certificates. The Warming Charm offers protection from the cold, but despite it, he feels dull and sluggish, as empty inside as the rest of the house in its haunting stillness.

He looks at his stack of unopened letters and small parcels and releases a shaking breath. He doesn't want the company or sympathies from other people right now. Aberforth has made it perfectly clear that he's not planning to return to their house, that he refuses to submit to Albus as the head of the family, and Albus can't say he blames him.

If he were smart, Albus would be using this time to himself to finish his research and work towards advancing his status in the world of academics. He's longed for years to be free of familial responsibility, and now he is free. He'd not even lasted a full summer as family head before it all fell to pieces.

He'd like to say the losses, the grief, the pain of betrayal all fell to Gellert, but realistically he admits that he has only himself to blame; Gellert was merely the catalyst for the downward spiral he was already in.

Gellert. The image of his laughing face rises in Albus's mind, his blond curls bouncing as his smile spreads on his face in pure delight. Impish, childish joy and mischief was always present in Gellert's blue eyes. His laughter was infectious, deep and rumbling inside his chest, thick with his slavic accent and sounding so much more mature than his sixteen years. It's madness that Albus is still so enraptured by such a person, even after the façade had been shattered.

Albus stares at his hands, folded on the desktop. The signs were there from the start, but he'd chosen not to see them. Gellert had been expelled from Durmstrang after all, a school infamous for its tolerance of the Dark Arts. Even when recounting the tale of his expulsion for nearly killing his classmates, Gellert hadn't seemed to grasp he had done wrong. But Albus was blinded by the thrill of meeting his intellectual equal, a boy so like him, so willing to connect when he needed it most.

Sometimes Albus wonders if Gellert ever loved him at all. They'd taken to each other like a wand choosing its wizard. After they met, Albus felt Gellert's ideas take hold of his mind as if the sky had opened up and revealed his destiny. Together they were alive and inspired, the perfect duo to seek and claim the Deathly Hallows, where all who came before had failed.

Even though he'd known that some of Gellert's more fanatical ideas were born of prejudice, he'd been confident that together they would balance each other, that he'd be able to bring Gellert round to the right way of seeing the world. He was worth the time and energy, worth investing in, and he was so very charming. Once united, Albus and Gellert, Masters of Death itself, would make a new and perfect world for Muggles and wizards alike. But he hadn't imagined that Gellert would see Albus's brother as a threat.

Gellert had taken to Ariana immediately. He'd seen her affliction as proof that their lofty goals of domination over Muggles were not only well founded, but necessary for the continuance of wizard kind. He'd reasoned that once they seized control, she would be their figurehead to rally support. Perhaps with the Deathly Hallows in their possession, they'd be able to heal her. Albus had fallen for Gellert entirely. He'd been ready to lay down his own life if Gellert asked it of him — anything so long as they were together.

Love is ridiculous.

A log in the fireplace cracks, making Albus jump in his seat, knocking the parcels to the floor. He turns to the hearth and restocks the fire with a flick of his wand before picking the packages back up and replacing them on the desk.

His eyes fall upon the inscription on a small rectangular package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. It's simply his name, but in place of the capital A in Albus is the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, the signature he'd adopted during the several weeks of madness the previous summer. It could only be from Gellert.

He slides his silver dagger against the twine, breaking it, his thoughts spinning back to the fateful night before his sister died. That night had changed the course of his future, perhaps even the future of the wizarding world itself. He can't look inside the box, not yet. Instead he concentrates on the flat wood of the desktop beneath his palms, remembering, feeling again the passions that had ignited and burned out so quickly.

He'd admitted to himself after a mere fortnight that he desired Gellert, mind, soul, and body. His youth and struggle with his sexuality in the days when two men in love were understood to exist as confirmed bachelors, that they could be friends and reside in the same house, but that to all outward appearances must be to others as if members of the Muggle clergy, chaste. They could be mentors and educators, so long as the subjects didn't encroach on that which was frowned upon. It was with great apprehension that Albus admitted his proclivities to Gellert and then, only when Gellert pushed him for the information. Gellert was able to read him as no other person had ever been able to, and he'd teased the secrets Albus had learned to suppress out from him with nimble fingers and whispered promises. After all the care his mother had taken to impress upon him the importance of keeping sensitive subjects private so people could not take advantage of you or turn events to trap you, he'd laid himself bare to that budding youth who practised Dark magic for fun.

Gellert had insisted he would take the secret of Albus's homosexuality with him to the grave, that it changed nothing between them, that he may even understand Albus's tastes more than Albus realised and if given the chance, would prove it. Being a virgin through necessity had driven Albus's hormones to the breaking point. He'd longed to share the intimacy afforded to those of like mind, longed to join together and become one with a person he could see as an equal. Here was Gellert, potentially offering himself like he were tempting a rabbit out from hiding with a particularly juicy carrot.

Under the safety of night, Albus could finally allow himself to think about how Gellert's eyes shone with awe when Albus had shown him the Deluminator; how Gellert had reached over and touched Albus's back, his fingers burning through the fabric of Albus's robes, leaving a path of pure heat against his skin. He never could refuse Gellert anything, and when Gellert had asked to borrow the device for a time, Albus had handed it over without question.

He'd stroked himself beneath his coverlet, shuddering at the thought of Gellert's deft fingers holding the Deluminator, that perhaps at this very moment Gellert was clicking it, testing the power behind the spells Albus had placed on it.

His balls drew up and he slowed his stroking, not wanting to release the tension too quickly, but rather extend the pleasure as far as it would go. Gellert's bright blue eyes, his easy grace, his rolling laughter, wound Albus so tightly he couldn't sleep until Gellert's name rolled off his tongue as he climaxed.

The candle on his bedside table flickered, and Albus froze, a loud crack breaking the silence. He sat up rigidly, certain that Ariana's magic was getting out of hand again.

But when he'd looked down the foot of his bed, Gellert stood in the middle of the room wearing only his dressing gown. He met Albus's eyes with surprise, but smiled broadly when he saw where he was.

"Albus?" He'd crossed the room, tying the sash on his gown and taking a seat beside Albus. "I was preparing for bed when I heard your voice call my name from this." He held out his hand, the Deluminator resting in his palm.

Albus's heart stopped, heat filling his cheeks. He had called out Gellert's name while he masturbated, but he'd not realised it would carry through the instrument. "How…" He paused, calming his breathing. "You Apparated here?"

Gellert pulled the coverlet back and slipped between the sheets. He rested on his side and looking at Albus with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, tucking the Deluminator beneath his pillow. "Your voice sounded full of passion. Who am I to deny such a call?"

Albus trembled as Gellert came closer, their faces an inch apart, breathing the same air. He met Gellert's kiss and fell headlong into his most coveted dream. He gave himself over to exploration and sensation and simply stopped thinking.

When the sun rose the next morning, Albus's world shattered. It started with his bedroom door banging open, and his room filling with Ariana's distant screams.

Gellert didn't move to assist as Albus frantically pulled his nightshirt back on and searched for his dressing gown, his heart pounding. The sounds of Aberforth's footsteps and calming words sent fear flooding his system. What if Ariana was beyond stopping, like that time with his mother? What if Aberforth was walking straight into the arms of death?

"Albus." Gellert's low voice stopped him as he was about to step into the hall.

He turned, finding an impudent smirk on Gellert's face that made him appear more impish than human. "I have to … They are my responsibility." He left without waiting to hear any more criticism. More times than he could count, Gellert had told him he would be better off allowing his brother to care for his sister, and Aberforth said the same thing. Albus couldn't bear it. He should be able to do it all.

He found Ariana at the foot of the stairs, Aberforth stroking her hair while steam poured from her ears.

Aberforth looked up as Albus paused half-way down. "Just a small one this time. She's had some pepper-up after I stunned her. No need to trouble yourself."

Albus wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He was both grateful for the fit's passing and incensed that he hadn't been there to help straight away.

Aberforth's eyes grew dark, his brows furrowing. "What's he doing here?" he barked gruffly.

Albus turned to see Gellert standing at the top of the stairs in his dressing gown and nothing else. He was torn between wanting to laugh, the kisses on his face still warm, and wanting to shout that Gellert promised not to reveal his inclinations to anybody, his family included.

He turned back to Aberforth. "Why don't you get her to her room to rest?"

Aberforth countered, his eyes still trained on Gellert. "I think you are the one that needs to go, Albus. I've told you time and again I can handle Ariana. You want to go off and do big things with your friend, you're welcome to it, but you can't take her with you."

He looks back at the box as his memories of that time fade. He can't bring himself to revisit what came next. The Deluminator sits on a bed of paper, flickers of candlelight reflecting off the silver. He hasn't spoken Gellert's name aloud since that fateful day.

Aberforth had been right when he'd told Albus he was blinded by emotion; that he hadn't seen Gellert's true nature until the absolute worst had happened.

A tear escapes his eye and lands on the desktop. How could he have known what would happen? When he'd first met Gellert, it was as if heaven itself had opened up and shone down a beam of light upon him, gifting him with the presence of an angel.

After Ariana was killed, Gellert fled. He, who had promised Albus he'd stay with him through thick and thin, had fled mere hours after they'd made love.

"Albus, whenever you're ready to find your way back to me, I'll be waiting."

Gellert's voice coming from the Deluminator sounds as though it's been squeezed through a long tube, making it brittle and wispy.

Albus puts the lid back on the box, his fingers cold. He stands, and slides the box onto the top shelf of his wardrobe and closes the door. He will never answer.


End file.
